Sincerely, Me
by Literature Rogue
Summary: It all started with a letter Jess was never supposed to see. He inevitably found it, and responded. Take a look at the evolution and demise of Jess and Rory's relationship through their letters to each other. Begins with an extended scene from 3.01. Lit.
1. Chapter 1: Signed, Sealed

**Rogue: **This is my first Gilmore Girls fanfiction, and it was written on a whim at midnight. I was watching my Season Three DVD set and decided that Rory really shouldn't have left that perfectly good piece of paper to waste, and added a little 'extended scene' where she _does_ write a letter to Jess. She just doesn't send it. Like I said, first Gilmore Girls story. If you could comment on the style, or if I even got Rory down at all, that would be nice. Oh, and I deliberately don't use their names at all except in the actual letter. So that's why there are so many 'she's and he's' in here. It was an attempt at a style. 

**DISCLAIMER: **If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing this. It would've been included.

* * *

"See you Friday, doc."

"See you Friday." The words escape her mouth without really registering what she's saying. It's not until the dial tone is echoing in her ear that she realizes that her mother hung up, and she sets the phone back on the table next to her bedside. Her eyes circle the room once, as if searching for something in the dark. But there's nothing there, as usual. When she closes her eyes, there he is. Again.

This is why she can't wait to get home. He's always there whenever she closes her eyes, with that crooked smile and tousled hair. It's not even the boy she supposed to be missing –that would be Dean, her boyfriend- and yet his face is the one that keeps appearing on her eyelids. She knows it's because she hasn't written to him, or contacted him at all while she's been here. Here, as in Washington. And she knows the only reason she hasn't contacted him is because of what happened at the wedding.

It doesn't make sense. She's dating Dean, and he is just a friend. Or, he was just a friend. Does a person really get on a bus and skip school for a friend? Do you kiss friends at other friends' weddings? Do you sit up at night, at the writing desk in the corner, and try (unsuccessfully) to write letters to a friend, explaining what happened?

This is why she is dreading returning to Stars Hollow. He is there, and whether he waited for her or not, seeing him probably won't help the dizzy feeling she gets whenever she thinks of him, but at least if she sees him he won't keep appearing while she's trying to sleep.

But she knows now that she's awake, she can't fall back asleep. So she slips out of her bed and over to the writing desk in the corner of the dorm room she's sharing with Paris. Underneath multiple letters from Dean, there is a letter she's writing herself. The letter is not addressed to Dean, though. She's written him while she was gone. _He_ hasn't heard from her since the wedding.

She sits there for a long while, the only light coming from a small lamp on the desk. The two words scratched on the paper seem to be glaring at her, urging her to continue the letter. Her eyes linger on the name for a brief moment, and she bites her lower lip, tapping her pen lightly against the edge of the desk. She hears stirring behind her, and her eyes jam shut. If Paris wakes up and asks her what she's doing, she doesn't know what her excuse will be this time. She's already used the 'writing to Dean' excuse twice already, and she thinks her roommate might be catching on.

But Paris mumbles something about Hilary Clinton and rolls back over, and she knows she's safe. With a resigned sigh, she realizes that she's never going to get this out of her system if she doesn't get it out somehow. So she puts her pen to paper, and the words begin to pour out, as if the pen has a mind of its own, and she's not the author.

She scribbles furiously for a few minutes, pausing only to scratch something out or to replace her pen when it runs out of ink. When her writing hits the edge of the paper, she slides the letter forward chews the end of the pen thoughtfully, her eyes falling closed. His face is still lingering there, deep brown eyes so familiar. Sometimes, when they were together, she felt like he was staring through her, not at her. She thought he could read her like the books they both loved so much.

Her eyes snapped open and she let her gaze shift to the letter. It read:

_Dear Jess,_

_I don't know what to say to you, really. There's no way I can explain what happened at the wedding, what I did or why I did it. It was the heat of the moment, and it just seemed like the right thing to do at th__e time. Looking back on it, it__ seems very impulsive and very not me, but I did it. And, you probably know by now that the reason I haven't tried to talk to you since then is because I have no idea what's going on in my head right now. I don't know about you. I don't know about Dean. About the only thing I'm sure of is that, when we did kiss, I felt something._

_I'm just not sure what that something is yet. You're different, you know. You're practically the complete opposite of my type. If you were reading this, you'd probably be thinking that my type is Dean. Well, considering he's my only boyfriend, I guess he's my type. But, really, how can someone have a type if they've only dated one boy in their lifetime? Dean's my type. But does that mean he's my _only_ type? I don't think so. I can't deny th__at I'm attracted to you__. Well, obviously there was an attraction. I don't just go around kissing my friends on a daily basis._

_That's what you were to me: a friend. My mother didn't like it. She didn't__ think__ you'd be a good influence on me. You really weren't. I skipped school to go chasing after you when you left. Except, I don't think you're the only one doing the influencing. I'd like to think I'm rubbing off on you, too. I can see it in you, Jess. There's a lot more to you than just the rebel without a cause image you're trying to pull off. You're really smart. I know you can do great things. You just need to set your mind to it. _

_But now, I don't know what you are to me. You're always there, even when I'm sitting in a conference with seventy-five of the one-hundred senators. If I close my eyes even for a minute, you're there. I guess that means something. I thought that writing this letter would make the dizzy feeling in my head__ and the dead weight in my stomach__ go __away__. But the only thing this is doing is making me realize why I did it in the first place._

_I kissed you because I wanted to. I missed you while you were gone, and when you came back like that, all I wanted to do was kiss you. So I did. And now you won't leave me alone. Even when we're miles apart, you won't stop bugging me. Is that a sign? _

_I kissed you. You kissed me back. And now I can't stop thinking about it. I don't know what this feeling is, but when I figure it out, I'll let you know._

She took a deep breath and shook her head slowly, moving to grab the pen again. She signed her name with 'love' and once she realized what she'd done, she scribbled the word out about a million times. Then she turned the paper over and scribbled it out on the back side, too. She knew if he saw it, he'd be curious, and try and figure out what she didn't want him to see. She also knew that if he held it up to the light, he could probably make out the 'love' that had been scratched out.

She signed the letter with _Sincerely, Rory_, and folded the paper in halves, and then in fourths. She grabbed the nearest book (_The Fountainhead)_ and stuffed the letter between the pages, in no particular place.

She decided it didn't really matter that she'd written _love, Rory _because he was never supposed to see the letter anyway. It was just an exercise to get her feelings out. She wouldn't send it, because she only had one more day here. She would return to Stars Hollow before her letter did. She wasn't planning on giving it to him, either.

And he would never see it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2: And Delivered

**Rogue: **So. I decided to continue with this. I had a little trouble characterizing Jess's letter. He's a deep person. I was trying to make it seem like he thought out every word he wrote, since that's how I see him. When he talks, he doesn't just spill words out. He thinks about what he's saying before saying it. So. That's where I was going with that. I was thinking of extending this even more and connecting events of Rory and Jess's lives by these letters. The weird pen-pal relationship might have started here, and it just kept going. What do you guys think? Do you want a glimpse into other pieces of their lives by way of letters or not? I'm still deciding...

**DISCLAIMER:** If you sued me right now you'd probably get about fifty cents and a lint ball. Go ahead. I dare you.

* * *

He shouldn't be here, and he knew it. But, the fact that he shouldn't be somewhere had never stopped him before. In fact, it always seemed to make going to that forbidden place so much more appealing. Tonight, though, it wasn't the adrenaline rush that made him perch outside her window. It was the fact that he knew she wasn't there. She was with Dean, at some crazy town function or another. It was a festival, he thought. This town had a festival for everything. 

Her window was never locked. You just had to unlatch it and pull. Since he was on the outside, and he knew it was already unlatched, he pushed the window open and silently crept into her room. It was dark except for the soft glow of her computer's screensaver, and the door was firmly shut.

His gaze wandered around the room, lingering for a moment on the entire wall dedicated to Harvard before zeroing in on the bookshelves taking up her walls. A faint smile formed on his lips as he unrolled the paperback that rested in his back pocket. The cover was worn down and wrinkled, but the title was written messily on the front in black Sharpie. It read _Oliver Twist _in her careful lettering.

He moved toward the bookshelf he'd taken it from two days ago; her room was like his own personal library. There were no late fees and no need for a library card. He simply walked in and borrowed whatever he wanted, leaving a few selections for her to read in return. Most of the time, he'd leave her with something written by Hemingway, and it would remain untouched on her bedside table until his return.

This time, when he turned to the place where his books usually awaited his return, he found her table empty. His brow furrowed slightly. Was she reading it? Did she take it with her? Moving back to the bookshelf, he ran his finger along the spines of her books, slightly surprised to find his battered copy of _The Sun Also Rises _among her collection. He pulled it out and noticed that the front cover had been completely torn off. A note was scribbled on the back cover in her familiar handwriting.

_I decided to humor you. While I still don't like Hemingway, I'll admit his works are classics. You know the classics, but you don't have good taste. Oh, and sorry about the front cover. _

"Rory," he read the signature out loud, the syllables rolling off his tongue naturally. "Huh. She read Hemingway." Brown eyes searched the shelves in the dark, finding the place her Dickens belonged and slipping the novel back into its proper place.

Her entire collection was alphabetized by author, and the works by one author were also arranged alphabetically. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for. He pulled a weathered copy of _The Fountainhead_ out of its place and flipped through the pages. He'd borrowed it before, but he never seemed to be able to get through it. She insisted it was a stepping stone of American literature. Ayn Rand was her Ernest Hemingway.

He flipped through the pages, smirking at the marginal notes she'd written on nearly every page. Slipping his Hemingway into his back pocket, he moved toward the window, flipping the pages of the book like he was shuffling a deck of cards. Something slipped between his fingers, and for a moment he thought he'd ripped a page out of her book. "That's not good," he murmured softly, stooping to retrieve the fallen piece of paper. When he straightened up, a frown appeared on his lips. This was a letter addressed to him and signed with her name.

"Dear Jess…"

---

She slipped into her room unnoticed sometime after eleven. Her mother was already asleep upstairs, so she took care to keep quiet as she moved across the room and sank down onto her bed. Her eyes immediately jammed shut, but one eye fluttered open. There was something under her, digging into her back. Reaching behind her, she snatched whatever she was sitting on and pulled it out.

A blank stare graced her features as she gazed at the copy of _The Fountainhead _in her hands. Her lips pursed into a bemused sort of frown. She hadn't even been reading Ayn Rand lately. She was reading _Ethan Frome_. She still had the novel in her purse to prove it. Blue eyes lingered on the worn cover for a moment before realization dawned on her: this was the place where she had hidden Jess's letter.

Suddenly, irrational panic washed over her. What if someone had found it? Her mother could have been cleaning and the book could have fallen and she might have found the letter. She shook her head slowly, trying to calm her mind. That didn't make any sense. First of all, her mother didn't clean. And besides, who would possibly be going through her books anyway?

There was something sticking out of the corner of the book. A wrinkled and folded corner of a piece of paper rested there, daring her to pull it out and investigate. If that wasn't enough, the fraction of paper she could see without pulling it out of the book held the word _Rory_ in a slightly familiar messy scrawl.

She bit her lower lip, a shiver running down her spine. There was no question that it was his handwriting. She had no idea why he had been looking at her copy of _The Fountainhead_ in the first place. He hated Ayn Rand. There was no way he could have found that letter.

But he must have. That was the only explanation. She inhaled deeply, surprised that her breath was shaky. She pulled at the corner of the paper, yanking the entire piece of paper out and letting it lay motionless on the bed.

For a moment, she simply stared at it. It was a letter, written by Jess. It was written on the back cover of his copy of _The Sun Also Rises_. The Sharpie note she had written on the other side was leaking through the paper. Still, his handwriting was staring her straight in the face. Her name was written in the same messy scribble, but it looked as if he'd gone over it multiple times, rounding the letters just right, and making them bolded and stand out on the page. She read the letter without moving, eyes darting across the page quickly. It read:

_Rory,_

_You didn't write me. You didn't call me. You didn't try to contact me at all while you were in Washington. I came back. I ran away after the accident, but I came back. I came back, and you kissed me. I kissed back. I'll tell you what. I couldn't stop thinking about it either. Hell, I couldn't stop thinking about you period. Every time I walked through this town, something would remind me of you. I couldn't stay at the diner for long knowing that you wouldn't be there, drinking coffee and reading Ayn Rand. This entire town is isolated, and the only one who made me feel like I even belonged here was you. _

_And you just left without a word. I didn't even know you were gone until your mother came into the diner without you that morning. I left without telling you. I get it. But I can't just hop on a bus and come see you in D.C. __Believe__ me, I thought about it. But I didn't have the money, and I guess I sort of deserved it. Was this payback for my leaving without telling _you_? It kind of felt that way._

_I tried not to think about it. I thought that since you hadn't written, or called, or anything, I should move on. You obviously weren't interested. But no matter what I tried to focus on, it all came back to you. Everything came back to you. I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't focus on anything without you popping into my head. You're such a distraction, Rory. No wonder my grades are terrible. Making you my tutor was the worst thing Luke could've done for me._

_Even though you didn't write me, I can't help but forgive you. You're with Dean. I get it. But just so you know, I felt it, too. After we kissed, there was this tingling sensation. And it hasn't faded since then. I'm not sure what's going on with us. I don't know what the future holds. But I do know one thing. Ayn Rand's style is still flat and bland to me._

_I don't know what you see in her._

It was simply signed with is name. "Jess," she murmured the name in a hushed tone. She released her bottom lip and smiled softly. "He read Ayn Rand…"

_P.S. You owe me a new copy of _The Sun Also Rises_. This one's completely vandalized, thanks to you._


	3. Chapter 3: Marginal Notes

**Rogue: **Okay. I had a bit of writer's block while editing/writing this chapter. I had to re-write it twice, and then edited the final draft almost completely. I wasn't completely sure I wanted them to actually speak and interact...but in the end Jess and Rory wanted to be in the same place at the same time. I'm still not sure if I'm happy with the result. I'll let you guys decide. As a note, this little scene takes place after 3.02 Haunted Leg but before One's Got Class and the Other One Dyes. This is Rory's way of dealing with her issues with Shane. First she writes to Jess. And when he doesn't drop her, she decides to take matters into her own hands. I've always loved Literati because first, there was friendship. I mean, yeah, there was tension from the beginning. But Rory and Jess were friends first. And then they evolved into so much more. And as much as Jess does miss Rory, I think he'd still be a little irritated that she didn't contact him during the entire summer.

Oh, I also wanted to let you know that while the first two chapters might have had corresponding letters, the other chapters might not. What I mean to say is, this chapter covered the Shane issue, but the next probably won't. Rory and Jess's pen-pal relationship is an outlet- they say what they can't seem to say out loud. So, next chapter might be a completely different topic. But the chapters _will _alternate from Rory to Jess. So. Look forward to a Jess letter next time. Okay...End of incredibly long author's note.

**DISCLAIMER: **My real name is not Amy Sherman-Palladino.

* * *

When she pops her head into the diner, he doesn't seem to notice her. Relief washes over her, and she gently pushes the door open. The bell atop the door gives a shrill ring, alerting everyone in the diner to her presence. Her eyes immediately dart in his direction, gaze shifting to the floor when she realizes he's staring at her, an eyebrow arched and that familiar, amused smirk painted on his lips. 

Ignoring the weightless sensation that hit her stomach when his eyes met hers, she moved toward an empty table and set her schoolbag on the floor. She fished a textbook out of her pack and turned to the place she'd left off in her American History class. Her eyes slid across the pages quickly, but she wasn't really taking in any of the information. She'd read the same sentence five times now, because he was looking at her and she knew it. And she had a feeling that _he_ knew that she knew he was looking at her. She felt her cheeks heat up and told herself it wasn't because of the way he was smirking and stealing glances at her while he wiped down the counter.

A cup of coffee slid in front of her nose, and her eyes darted upward to meet his. "The usual," he murmured in his gravelly voice. When she didn't respond, he leaned down to clean the table with the rag in his hand. She knew he only did it so he could lean close enough to whisper in her ear. "Well aren't you the model student." His gaze lingered on her Chilton uniform for a moment, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smug sort of smirk. "Tell me; is it anything like Pencey Prep? Is your school full of phonies, too?"

She barely looked up from her book, sighing at the Salinger reference. He was the only person she knew who would use classic American literature references in everyday conversation, especially about the book she was currently reading. Carefully marking her place in _A History of the Americas_, she turned her attention to him. His voice had been barely above a whisper, but when she spoke, her tone was clear and loud enough for the entire diner to hear. "Listen, Jess. I'm trying to do my homework. Can't you just leave me alone?"

He straightened up, catching the slight edge in her voice. Arching his eyebrows in question, he slid the rag back into his pocket and pulled out the notebook he used to take orders with. "Will that be all?" His stare landed on the cup of coffee in front of her and she simply nodded.

"I'm not hungry."

He frowned. Since he'd known her, there was not one instance he could recall that she hadn't been hungry. She was always hungry. "Huh," the word escaped his lips without even registering in his mind. He took his place behind the counter once more and pulled out a copy of _Ethan Frome. Her_ copy of _Ethan Frome_.

She stuffed her textbook back into her bag and yanked another novel out. Getting to her feet, she slung the bag over her shoulder and moved toward the counter. Wordlessly, she shoved a five dollar bill at him. He handed her the change, but when she turned to leave, his hand locked around her wrist. A questioning expression came over her face, and he slid the novel across the counter. "Did you forget already? You brought Salinger for me, and I'm giving you Wharton in return." He slid the copy of _Ethan Frome_ toward her.

Her body had tensed at his touch, and her blank stare was directed toward his hand on her wrist. She dropped _The Catcher in the Rye _on the counter. "There. You have what you wanted."

"See you around." Shaking her head slowly, she turned from him without a word, ignoring the electricity that seemed to vanish from her skin when he let go of her wrist.

He grinned as she fumbled with the doorknob and left the diner in her silent humiliation. She'd gone in and out of that door hundreds of time, and she had pushed instead of pulled. Who does that? His eyes found her copy of _Ethan Frome_ still sitting on the counter, and his gaze followed her path as she walked down the sidewalk in front of the diner, realized she'd forgotten it, and walked back to the door. She then promptly shook her head and walked back toward her home.

But he knew she wouldn't leave her book. She appeared at the door and thrust it open, then stalked over to the counter and snatched her book. She shot him a withering stare as his lip quirked up in a crooked smile, a real smile and not the smirk he usually wore. "Was that the famous withering stare? I was expecting more, Gilmore."

"I'm leaving now."

---

He slipped into the diner unnoticed sometime after eleven. The bell atop the door made a shrill ringing noise, and he gritted his teeth in anticipation of Luke's yelling. But the diner slid back to its uncomfortable silence. Usually, he didn't mind quiet. In fact, he much preferred silence to pointless conversation. But the silence of the empty diner was almost too much, and he quickly made his way across the dark room.

He halted his steps as he reached the curtain that led to the apartment. His eyes flicked to the counter, where her copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_r ested. One side of his mouth quirked upward in the shadow of a smile, and he reached across the counter to snatch the novel and eased it into his back pocket.

Once upstairs, he flipped on the lights and sank down on the bed. He pulled the novel out of his pocket and flipped through the pages, an amused smile forming upon his lips as he noticed her marginal notes scribbled on nearly every page. He turned back to the beginning of the book and began to read, eyes moving across the pages effortlessly. He'd read the book before, but his literature class was focusing on the American classics.

Besides, he liked the way her neat handwriting bordered each page with observations and explanations. He read for a long while, ignoring Salinger's words and simply reading her marginal notes. They were better than any Cliffs Notes he'd ever seen. Granted, he always read the books, but she could probably sell these notes and make a fortune.

He'd just gotten to the part with Holden and the Lavender Room when her notes seemed to break off. His brow furrowed and a frown appeared on his lips. "Huh," he murmured, flipping through the pages once more. The next fifty pages had no familiar handwriting in the margins, and he found himself flicking ahead until he found his own name scribbled at the top of page one-hundred-and-three.

It only took him a second to realize that the words framing Salinger's actually formed a letter addressed to him. It read:

_Jess,_

_I came back. Sure, before I left I kissed you and told you not to tell anyone. But I was panicked. I'm Rory Gilmore. I've only had one boyfriend in my entire life. I don't normally go around kissing my friends at weddings. I know I didn't handle it in the best way. But I came back. I'm no different than you are. And I_ _forgave _you_, didn't I?_

_I understand that we're not all as compulsive as I've decided to become over the past few months. I kiss boys who are not my boyfriend and jump on busses to visit said boy. You're Jess, and you come back, but I come back, too. I mean, even before the wedding, we were...Well, you were my friend. And as a friend, I have to tell you something. I don't think she's good for you. There's no substance in that relationship. I know you. Whether you like it or not, I know you. And I know that underneath that James Dean cover you're hiding under, you want someone to talk to. In case you didn't notice, Shane doesn't talk much._

_She's usually too busy being attached to your face to say much of anything. The most intelligent thing I've ever heard her say is "I'm bored". You're a smart guy, Jess, and you can do better. If you're going to date, at least date someone whose vocabulary extends passed the third grade. I don't have a problem with you dating other people. Dating is a part of teenage life (unless you're Rory Gilmore, in which case you only date one person). So go. Date! Just not Shane._

_I wanted to talk to you, you know. But every time I try to she's always there. Honestly, I wouldn't mind as much if I could just talk to _you_. If we could go back before the wedding, what would you say? Could we still be friends? Because at this point, the stupid dizzy feeling I've been getting is being overshadowed by dislike for your obnoxious girlfriend. See, if we were friends, you'd consider the advice and come at me with some sort of literary reference. But right now, I don't know what you're doing. It's almost like this thing between us is making our relationship worse. And as much as I'd like to say I don't care, I kind of miss you. _

_Your friend (?),_

"Rory," he tested the name on his lips, letting the familiar syllables roll off his tongue. He hadn't said her name since their fight at Doose's the other day, and today had been their first conversation since. It hadn't gone well. He flipped the pages of the book once more, finding her in-depth analysis of the novel continued on the next page. He shook his head slowly, reaching around for a pen.

---

"Coffee," she mumbled as she slid onto the stool directly in front of Luke. He poured her a fresh cup, and she drained it quickly. When she set the mug back on the counter, a scrap of paper sat in front of her. She raised her eyebrows at Luke, who shrugged and moved to refill her cup.

"He told me to give it to you." She cast a glance around the diner. She hadn't noticed that he wasn't there. She'd been too used to avoiding his gaze that she hadn't even looked behind the counter until Luke passed the cup of coffee to her. Her hand moved toward the slip of paper, covering it for a moment. She pulled it toward her, and unfolded it.

His messy scrawl lined the words _The Catcher in the Rye_. It said:

_Rory,_

_You didn't say goodbye, either._


	4. Chapter 4: Read Between the Lines

**Rogue: **Okay, this chapter focuses on the transition from Rory-and-Dean to Jess-and-Rory. It takes place after **They Shoot Gilmores, Don't They? **but before **Let the Games Begin**. Why? Well, there has to be some time between the two episodes. The Dance Competition was a Saturday, and Rory's in her Chilton uniform at the beginning of **Let the Games Begin**. Anyway, these scenes take place mostly on that Sunday, and the that Monday morning. It's the beginning of Literati as we know it, and it's pretty adorable.

As a note, I realize Rory's not focusing too much on the break up with Dean. In my world, I think she was in love with Dean, but it sort of faded...She was stuck between them since she went to visit Jess in Season Two, and she couldn't make up her mind. Well, after Dean broke up with her, she realized what she really wanted. And what she really wanted was Jess.

**DISCLAIMER:** It's times like these I wish I was adopted by awesome television show creators like the Palladinos...

* * *

"Are you okay, babe?" The words didn't break through the cloud of thoughts fogging up her brain. Her eyes were lingering at the counter. The only one behind the counter was Luke. "Rory?" Her attention snapped to her mother, who was shooting her a concerned look. "What's up? You kind of look like a raccoon…" Of course she was referring to the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't gotten much sleep, despite the fact that they had been involved in a 24-hour dance competition. 

Her brain was just too full. And for once, her mind wasn't filled to the brim with materials for her latest finals. Her mind was swirling in a fog of thoughts and emotions all leading back to him. "Is it Dean?" It wasn't.

"Yeah." But she said it was, just to avoid the awkward conversation that would surely follow if she told her mother which boy she was really spending her sleepless nights wondering over. Her mother nodded in understanding, pushing a stack of pancakes toward her. She shook her head slowly, letting her gaze sweep the diner once more. He hadn't mysteriously appeared out of thin air, so she slowly got to her feet.

"I'm not hungry." Her mother arched an eyebrow, but nodded again. "I'm gonna head home."

"Okay. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She picked up the book that had been resting by her hand the entire time she sat there, and moved to the counter. Luke stopped his cleaning and poured a cup of coffee to go. When she went to hand him the money, he shook his head slowly. "It's on me." She blinked, aware of how everyone in the entire town knew everything about her social life within twelve hours of what happened.

Shaking the thought off, she pushed the thin paperback toward him. "Could you give that back to him for me?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Almost immediately after she exited the diner, he came down the stairs and snatched a doughnut from the counter. Luke stared at him. "How long were you sitting there waiting for her to leave?"

"What are you talking about?"

Luke shoved the book at him. "She told me to give it to you." He stared down at the book in his hand. The cover was crisp and clean, and proclaimed _The Sun Also Rises _in large, bold letters. He ran a hand over the cover before turning the first page. Familiar handwriting met his gaze.

_You know, __I __destroyed the other one on purpose. It was just too painful for me._

"I have to run over to Doose's. Can you handle things here?"

He bobbed his head in agreement, pulling a paperback out of his pocket. It was the same novel, but this one was worn and missing both covers. When Lorelai appeared in front of the register a moment later, he was startled out of his thoughts. "Hey. I guess since you're running the joint I actually have to pay for my food, huh?"

He blinked, taking the bill from her and handing her the change. Lorelai stared at him for a second before turning to leave. He heard the words leave his throat before actually realizing he'd said them out loud. "Could you give this to her for me?" He held out the coverless copy of _The Sun Also Rises _and Lorelai turned back around.

A confused expression crossed her face as she reached out for the novel. She mouthed the title before turning her attention back to him. "Didn't she just give you a new copy of the same book?" He nodded. "And you want me to give this to her?" He nodded. "Okay, but she's obviously already read it." But she stuffed it in her purse anyway, and he nodded again. There wasn't really anything for him to say anyway. He only had words for her, but since she was too stubborn to go looking for him and he was too cool to say it out loud, her mother would just have to deliver the message.

---

"Rory?" She continued staring at the muted television, barely aware of anything other than the issues being discussed on today's episode of The Brady Bunch. "Rory?" The dull glow from the screen was making her skin seem even paler than it actually was, and made the dark circles under her eyes stand out even more. "Rory!" This time, she jumped a few inches off the couch, craning her head back to stare at her mother. "I called you like a million times."

"It was probably more like four."

"It was three, not like you would know. You're too busy watching Marcia and Greg and all of their step-sibling sexual tension." Normally, she would debate how there wasn't supposed to be any sexual tension between the Bradys, because the show was so traditional, but she just didn't feel up to it today. She simply sighed heavily and leaned her head back against the couch cushions, staring at Lorelai's face upside down.

"Look, I know you're upset about Dean and everything, but this whoa is me thing is just not you." She didn't bother to correct her mother on why she was acting this way. It was just easier if she didn't know, for now anyway. "Oh, yeah. Jess wanted me to give this to you. I have no idea why, because you just gave him a copy of the same book. But since he's potentially the most dangerous thing in Stars Hollow right behind angry Kirk, I figured I should just humor him."

She blinked down at the weathered copy of _The Sun Also Rises_in her hands. The look of confusion only lingered on her face for a split second before her eyes lit up in realization. She sprang up from the couch and headed to her bedroom, carrying his Hemingway in her arms. "Didn't you already read that book?" The only answer Lorelai received was the closing of her bedroom door. "I don't get smart people."

She collapsed onto her bed and eagerly began flicking through the pages. There was nothing on the first page, which only held the title, or the last page, which was blank. Her forehead creased slightly as she leaned back against the headboard. It would take forever to look through the entire book for his recognizable scrawl. At this rate, it would be just as productive to re-read the entire novel.

Now that she thought about it, he probably did want her to re-read the entire book. Shaking her head, she turned to the first page and began to read, eyes darting across the pages. A certain passage in chapter two seemed to leap off of the page at her. She sat up straighter, eyes narrowing as she read the words aloud. "You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There's nothing to that." The words related to him, and to her. They had both left.

And just underneath that paragraph, the letter had started. She blinked down at the words in his untidy scribble. His letter was written in the small space between Hemingway's words. There was a line of text from the novel, and then there was a line of his letter. It alternated that way through the entire page. It gave the phrase 'read between the lines' a whole new meaning. The letter read:

_Rory,_

_Everything he said was true. That jerk ex-boyfriend of yours was right, about all of it. __I _am_ into you. I have been since day one. When Luke dragged me to that dinner at your house, and I walked into your room and saw all of those books, I knew you were someone I'd like to get to know. And it just went on from there. I paid ninety dollars for a basket that you made yourself because I wanted lunch with you. I left because I hurt you, but I came back because I missed you. And I kissed you back at the wedding. I helped you with faulty sprinklers.__ I _was _only nice to you.__ Dean was right. Everybody knew._

_Everybody except you. I think you figured it out, somewhere between skipping school to visit me and kissing me__ at the wedding__. I__ think you knew, while you were in Washington. I figured that when you got back, and saw me with her, you'd realize what you were doing and go back to him. You did. The brilliant plan worked. What I wasn't counting on was you getting jealous of me dating other people. I mean, I was jealous of Dean. But everyone (except you) seemed to get that. I never thought you'd get jealous of her._

_I'll admit that I had something to do with his breaking up with you, and I am sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen…Okay, it was really all I wanted. I wanted him to break up with you, so I could have a shot. I mean, there was no way you'd pick me over him. I'm the rebel without a cause and he's the captain of the hockey team. And you're Rory Gilmore, town princess. But he did break up with you, and he was a jerk. No matter what you did, he shouldn't have done it in front of everyone like that. I wanted to tell him that, but I followed you instead._

_I know you wanted me to tell you last night. The way you were looking at me with tears still hiding in your eyes, you wanted me to admit that I was into you, too. I didn't want to do it then. I was afraid that you only wanted me because you'd lost him. But your face when I didn't say anything made me admit it. I wanted to kiss you then, but I didn't. Because you were upset about Dean, and because I wanted you to __be sure, I didn't. I didn't even admit to everything. The entire reason I came back to Stars Hollow was because of you. I don't feel like I belong here, but you were enough to make me come back. _

_I came back for you, Rory. I chose you. _

It was simply signed with his name. She turned the page frantically, looking for more. At the top of the next page, there was a post script.

_P.S. I let Shane go. You were right as usual. She wasn't good for me._

---

"Coffee?" Luke murmured as she walked into the diner the next morning. She simply shook her head and pulled his copy of _The Sun Also Rises_ out of her bag.

"Could you give this to him for me?" Luke sighed heavily, glancing over his shoulder and mumbling under his breath.

"Sure. Are you two not speaking or what?"

"No, we're speaking. I just don't wanna miss my bus." She shrugged slightly and left, passing her mother on the way in. She hovered outside for a moment before sitting down on the bench in front of the diner. She pulled out a novel and began to read. Luke arched an eyebrow slightly.

"Coffee!" Lorelai murmured as she sat down at the counter and poured her own cup. He came down the stairs at the same time, turning to grab a doughnut. Luke slid the novel across the counter toward him. His eyes lingered on the book for a moment before he cracked it open, a small smile forming upon his face. Three words were written in her perfect handwriting on the second page: _I choose you._

He slipped the novel into his back pocket and left the diner, looking right and then left before finding her. Luke followed their conversation with his eyes, his grin and her animated head-nodding. Luke shook his head slowly, turning to Lorelai. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're missing something?"

She held out her cup and he turned to get the fresh pot of coffee. Lorelai was sitting there watching the window, and the two outside it. He was still standing over the bench, and she was still sitting. He leaned down on the prospect of reading over her shoulder and she turned her head very slightly, so their lips met. "No, Luke," Lorelai murmured, turning back to Luke as he poured her another cup of coffee. "When are you going to learn that I know everything?"


	5. Chapter 5: Wish You Were Here

**Rogue: **I couldn't resist. I love Christmas fic. So, even though it's January, I decided to do one of these. It's set after **A Deep-Fried Korean Thanksgiving **(obviously) but before **That'll Do, Pig. **The Winter Carnival in that episode is just a winter carnival, after Christmas...because I said so. Oh, and before anyone asks, Jess called and had Luke write up that note and leave it under the tree. Rory's names written on the front. Yep.

**DISCLAIMER: **Well, I wanted Christmas Literati. We never got it on the show. What does logic tell you?

* * *

"I love Christmas," she declared as they trudged through the three inches of snow that had blanketed the ground of Stars Hollow. She was bundled up in his leather jacket and a scarf. He was wearing his spare jean jacket, and walking with a slight hunch against the wind blowing at them. "You lived in New York. You can't tell me you didn't have a winter coat."

He nodded in her direction. "You're wearing it." Noticing the worried expression flash through her eyes, he shook his head slowly. "Don't worry about it. I forgot the rule that when you have a girlfriend, the girlfriend gets to wear your jacket." He slips an arm around her shoulders and he feels her relax and lean into him as they walk. "I hope you don't mind that it's not a letterman jacket, but I honestly cannot stand sports."

His gaze lingers on her for a moment as she wraps his leather jacket more tightly around her shoulders. "It's perfect." She stops walking and he pulls her closer. Her arms are wrapped around his neck as she stands on her tiptoes to reach eye level. His mouth quirks up in the smile she's starting to see more often. It's the one he reserves especially for her. She presses her lips to his and smiles into his mouth. He responds, gently at first, pulling away and tilting his head to the side.

She leans in again, kissing him hard on the mouth. And this time they both ease into it, breaking only when she complains about her poor lung capacity. Their foreheads touch as he untangles her arms from around his neck, keeping one of her gloved hands in one of his. He leads her into the gazebo and she follows him, sinking down onto the bench and watching him shake the snow out of his hair.

"I really don't want you to catch pneumonia, though," she murmurs as she unravels the scarf from around her neck and he wraps it around them both. It's comfortable, and she rests her head against his shoulder. Her eyes shift closed and she inhales deeply, enjoying the way he holds her close, his breath on her neck. One eye cracks open when he places a gentle kiss on the top of her head, and she looks up at him and smiles. "I want us to spend Christmas together. What do you and Luke have planned?"

His expression fades, a frown appearing on his chapped lips. The reaction makes her sit up straighter, nearly choking herself by moving away from him. She leans back down to avoid strangling herself with her own scarf and gazes up at him again. "If you don't want to, it's fine. I mean, we could just do the Christmas Eve thing if you want, but my grandparents are expecting us for dinner...What's wrong?"

His voice comes out hoarse from the cold, his breath hanging in the frigid air. "Rory, I'm going back to New York for Christmas." Her eyebrows shoot up and he sees her eyes dart to the ground.

"Oh. If that's what you want…"

"It's not about what I want," he assures her, letting out a heavy sigh. "Liz wants me over break. Don't ask me why, because she hasn't said a single thing to me since I got back here." She attempts to sit up again, making sure she doesn't get caught in the scarf.

"You mean you'd rather be here with me?"

"Of course. You've obviously never met Liz."

"You go and be with your mom. I'll still be here when you get back."

"I'd hope so…"

"Promise you'll call, and not just say you'll call, but really call?" He lets a dull chuckle escape his throat as he leans down to kiss her cheek.

"Promise."

---

It's Christmas Eve and he is sitting in the living room of his mother's apartment, staring at the television screen but not really seeing it. His mother's latest boyfriend is watching football, and he despises sports. So he just sits there, and turns his gaze to the window, where snow is gently falling outside. He is reminded of her, and how much she loves snow. She's at her grandparents now, and they're probably wondering why she doesn't have another boyfriend yet. Or, since she hasn't told them yet, where Dean is.

A smirk appears upon his lips and he gets to his feet. He snatches his leather jacket from the hook near the door (she'd given it back to him, telling him that he better not be sick when he got back). He moves toward the door and turns the knob. His mother notices, of course. She decides to get the motherly instincts now, when he's seventeen. "Jess?" He grits his teeth. "Where are you going?"

"Out," he replies simply, stepping outside and pulling at the collar of his jacket. He ignores his mother's insistence that nothing is open on Christmas Eve. When was she going to learn that you didn't need a specific destination to go out?

He stands on the porch, underneath the awning, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He'd promised her he'd quit, because she hated the taste but enjoyed the kissing, but without her there to tell him not to, the urge was just too strong. He dug into his other pocket, searching for his lighter. He found a piece of paper instead, and his brow furrowed slightly. He pulled it out and found a note folded in fours, on stationary he'd seen her use for her recommendation letters.

"Rory," he watches as his breath hangs in the air, visible because of the cold. It's like her name lingers n the air, ringing in his ears. His name is written in her perfect cursive, and he bites the inside of his lip. He sinks down to a seated position on the porch steps and begins to read.

_Jess,_

_I miss you already. This is obviously written before you even leave, but I know you won't try and smoke while I'm around. Christmas is my favorite day of the year. It's magical and all the people you care about are supposed to be there. I wanted our first Christmas together to be special. I wanted you to be here with me, and help me through the annual Gilmore family dinner. I wanted fireplaces and hot chocolate and snow._

_But most importantly, I wanted you to be here with me. I know it's stupid, but when I was little I used to write letters to Santa. For the first time in ten years, I wrote another letter. No, you do not get to see it. It was pathetic. But, in it, the only thing I asked for was that my boyfriend and I could be together on Christmas. I know it can't happen, but it's nice to dream, right?_

_Christmas always makes me think about people who are missing. When I was little, I __wished my father could be there__. But the only person I want to see this year is you. You know all of the crazy Christmas traditions, like fruitcake and leaving cookies and milk for Santa? The tradition I like most is mistletoe. So, I'm making Mom leave the house decorated until you get back. I expect a mistletoe kiss the moment you return._

_Oh, and you better be back in time for New Year's. I like that tradition, too._

_Wish you were here,_

His eyes lingered on her name for a long time before he got to his feet, limbs frozen from the cold. He tucked the letter into his back pocket as he slipped back inside, closing the door tightly behind him.

---

She woke up to a pillow being thrown at her head. "Rory! Get up! It's Christmas!" She barely raised her head from her pillow, looking at the clock on her bedside table. It was six o'clock in the morning. She groaned loudly and flopped back onto her bed, head perking back up again when she smelled coffee. Lorelai stood in the doorway holding two mugs, and she sat up in bed and held out her arms.

"No, sleepy head. Come and get it." For a moment, she debated simply going back to sleep, but at the risk of being called 'Scrooge' for the entire day, she got out of bed and snatched the cup of coffee. "Presents!" Her mother hurried into the living room, where the large pine tree stood. Luke had hauled the thing in here. Her gaze lingered on the star on top. He had helped her top the tree. A light sigh escaped from her lips as she drained her cup of coffee. She missed him.

Within a few minutes, every single present had been opened. Lorelai sat amid a pile of wrapping paper, and was looking around expectantly. "That's it? You've gotta be kidding me." Pushing the paper away, her mother began digging around at the bottom of the tree. "Aha!" Her mother declared, holding a small envelope over her head. The writing on the front was barely readable, but she knew it was Luke's. Lorelai flopped onto the couch next to her daughter, frowning as she held out the envelope. "It's for you."

Her forehead creased slightly, and she set her cup of coffee down on the table. "Hurry up and open it! What did he get you and not me?" The doorbell rang, and Lorelai got up to answer it. "Who visits at seven o'clock in the morning on Christmas day? Don't they know that random morning greetings are our thing?" On the front of the envelope in crisp red lettering were the words _Do not open until Christmas._ She slit the top of the envelope open saw a typed note, in some sort of professional, business-looking font. It read:

_Santa never forgets those on his good list._

"Rory? I think it's for you." She moved toward the door with the note still clutched in her hand. He was standing in the doorway, snow dusting his hair and that crooked smile set on his face. "Merry Christmas, Rory." She followed his gaze to the ceiling, where mistletoe was hanging. Lorelai glanced upward as well and shook her head slowly. "If you're gonna be doing that, I'll be going now."

He tilted his head to the side in question, and she moved toward him. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied, pulling her into his arms and leaning down to kiss her. When he pulled away, she entangled one hand in his hair and pulled him back, pressing his lips to his mouth. He smiled into her mouth and kissed back, moving into the house. She moved with him.

This time, when they pulled away, she spoke. "You came back?"

"Well, I didn't know what to get you anyway, so I figured this would be the best gift I could manage. Do you like it?"

"I love it."


	6. Chapter 6: Bookmark

**Rogue: **Okay, just so you guys know, the sequence of events for this entire story has been outlined. It's bordering on being a fifteen plus chapter story. Would you be willing to read it if it went that far? I know the concept is fairly simple, but I want to finish it now that I've got an endplace in my mind.I'm going to write it whether anyone's going to read it or not, but it'd be nice if you stuck with me through it.

Secondly, Jess might seem a little off in this chapter, simply because he's sort of opening up. But remember, it's not like he meant for Rory to ever see the rant-letter he wrote about Dean. It's one of those stupid excercises the shrink your mom makes you see has you do. He's just trying to get it out, because I think that Jess would be less than happy about Dean trying to get Rory back. I mean, it's been made clear that Jess doesn't think he's good enough for Rory, and he'd probably figure Dean would be better for her anyway. But, anyway, he hates Dean. That's enough incentive to write the letter.

This takes place after **That'll Do, Pig**.

**DISCLAIMER:** Well, I haven't taken over the CW yet...

* * *

She had perched herself on the stool directly in front of him, and was reading a thick volume of Dickens. His gaze lingered on her eyes, a burst of blue that darted across the pages quickly. He stopped wiping down the counter once he reached the spot where her empty coffee cup rested and let his eyes shift to hers. She was so engulfed in her book that she didn't seem to notice that he was staring at her, or the fact that he was trying to catch her eye. "Rory?" He murmured, head tilted slightly to the side. She didn't even look up in recognition when he said her name.

He rolled his eyes slightly, out of reflex. It wasn't like he was irritated with her. In fact, he found the fact that she could be completely immersed in a book in the middle of a crowded diner somewhat endearing. "Rory," he said again, his tone more serious. She paused only to turn the page of her novel. He turned away from her and grabbed the coffee pot and poured her a fresh cup. Out of instinct, she moved one hand out from behind her book and took a long sip, pushing the empty cup back toward him.

"Rory!" He said again, this time exasperated. She didn't look up, but he caught the shadow of a smile lingering on her lips. He picked up the coffee pot and the notepad he used to take orders with and moved out from behind the counter. He refilled cups and put down checks and when he turned back to the counter, she was still reading her Dickens, mouthing the words under her breath.

His mouth curled into a frown before he appeared behind her. "What are you reading?" She simply flashed him the cover of the book. "Huh," he murmured thoughtfully, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her waist. He leaned against her, letting their weight rest against the counter. She took a deep breath, waiting for him to leave, or move, or do something. He held the position, a curtain of her hair separating them.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading."

"You know I hate it when you read over my shoulder. And I know you've already read the book. It's _yours_." She grumbled, turning her head slightly to shoot him an annoyed glance. The effect was sort of ruined by the grin that appeared on her lips when he leaned forward, crushing her lips with his. She smiled into his kiss and he leaned forward, turning her around on the stool so she faced him. Her arms wound their way around his neck, and when she pulled back, he nipped her bottom lip lightly.

"Jess," she started to speak, but he simply kissed her again. "I have to go."

"Stay." He said it as a statement, not a question. His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she seemed to consider it.

"I have to go," she echoed, leaning forward and touching his cheek with her hand. She moved forward and he closed his eyes, but when she was close enough that he could feel her breath on his face, she simply said, "See you later," and left. His eyes snapped open as the bell above the door jingled, proving that she'd left. He shook his head slowly and moved to collect her dirty coffee cup, noticing that she'd left the Dickens sitting on the counter.

He picked it up and flicked through the pages, moving toward the door to return it to her. He stopped halfway to the door, staring at her through the glass. She was talking to him. She was laughing at whatever Dean said, and he was smiling that damn pretty-boy smile.

He tucked the Dickens into his back pocket and made his way back to the counter, frowning when he found a thin piece of paper on the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, finding that it was her bookmark. The bookmark was actually a note, written in unfamiliar, messy handwriting. It read:

_Rory,_

_I had a great time at the carnival with you the other day. Maybe we could meet without your tagalong and talk sometime? Let me know._

"Dean," he muttered, crumpling the piece of paper in his fist. He kept the copy of Dickens in his pocket, gaze lingering on the two talking outside the window.

---

He sat at the desk in the corner, _The Catcher in the Rye_open on his lap and a blank piece of paper sitting in front of him. He was supposed to be writing a character analysis of Holden Caulfield, but his mind kept drifting to Dickens, and when his thoughts began to shift to her they inevitably ended up lingering on her and Dean. His eyes landed on the copy of Dickens in the corner of his desk, the edge of Dean's note to her sticking out of the novel.

He pushed the book in his lap away and grabbed a pen. He gently tapped it against the desktop to a dull rhythm. His thoughts kept lingering on her, and her with Dean, and Dean's note. As his thoughts progressed, he began tapping the pen harder against the desk. The pen's cap broke off and went flying across the room. He stared down at the cap-less pen for a moment, shaking his head slowly.

He knew he was jumping to conclusions. Just because Dean was writing her notes (which, by the way, was _their_ thing) didn't mean she was writing back. And just because they were talking outside the diner today didn't mean anything. Although, by what Dean had said at the carnival, he wanted her back.

He rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand and shook his head. The pen was still in his hand, and he tugged the blank sheet of paper toward him. Once the pen hit paper, he began writing and he couldn't stop.

_Rory,_

_Your ex-boyfriend is a real jerk. I mean, he's writing you notes. _I _write you notes. Who does he think he is? And at the carnival, while you were gone, he said some stuff. He's going to try and get you back. He wants you back. He was your first, and he's probably better for you then I could ever be. But you're with __me now, so he should just back off. I mean, what business does he have writing you notes? _I_ write you notes. Not him._

_And I saw you. You were with him outside the diner this morning. The diner, Rory? If you're going to do it, at least do it somewhere I can't see by looking out the window. I mean, I don't want you to do it. But you could at least be more aware of your surroundings. I mean, the guy is a real jerk. He's just there, all the time, talking to you. And you're talking back, and I don't know w__hat to think. I saw the way he looked at you at the carnival__ He knows letting you go was a big mistake, and he's going to try and fix it. I know a thing about sneaking around. I've been that guy. __The guy who sneaks around with other girls.__ He could be that guy. But you're not that girl. But that guy could make even a good girl sneak around. I'd know. __And__, for the record,__ I'm not sneaking around on you, because you're Rory Gilmore, and I'm afraid the entire town would come after me with torches and pitchforks if I ever did anything to hurt you._

_He wants you back. And he's Dean, and he's the bag-boy, and he doesn't wear leather jackets. He's got a letterman jacket that you'd probably look great in. He's probably saving it for you, too. He's waiting for me to screw up, and when I do, he's going to take you and comfort you. When I screw up, you'll go back to him, won't you? I don't want to lose you, Rory, and if I do, I don't want it to be to a jerk like him. The guy's different when you're not around. He's not the nice guy you see all the time._

_He's mean. He knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to step on people to get it. He says he's biding his time. He's waiting. He's waiting for you to realize that choosing to be with me was a huge __mistake__ and that you're Rory and he's Dean and you're the perfect couple. He wants you back and he wants me gone. _

_I hate him. It's no secret. The entire town knows I hate him. And I didn't hate him just because he was with you and I wasn't (although I didn't like him much after I found out he was with you), I hated him because he's that guy. You know, the guy, with the car that's not beat up, who wears a varsity jacket and has the girl. It comes with the package. But now he doesn't have the girl, and I do, and I'm the complete opposite of him. And he's trying to get his image back, and he wants you to help. He's _that_ guy. I've always hated that guy. _

_I don't know what you see in him._

_Jess_

He rolled the pen across the desk and read over the letter briefly. It was stupid and childish, but it made him feel better. And it wasn't like he was planning on giving it to her anyway; it was just a way to get it out without getting into a fistfight. He caught the sound of the apartment door opening and quickly folded the letter twice long ways, making a makeshift bookmark and stuffing it into the copy of Dickens on the desk. He then stuffed the novel into his back pocket.

"Hey," she murmured, leaning in the doorjamb and surveying him with a raised eyebrow. As she spoke, he was making his way across the room toward her. "Am I bothering you? I just came by to pick up the book I left at the diner earlier. I figured you probably picked it-" She trailed off lamely as he kissed her, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her to the couch.

"-up," she finished, her breath coming out heavily. His lip curled upward in a smile as he sat, pulling her down with him. A grin appeared upon his lips as she caught her breath and leaned into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. He had an arm around her shoulders and was trailing kisses along her neck. When he left a playful nip on her neck, she took a sharp inhale of breath. "Jess…"

He kissed her hard on the mouth, and she responded, placing a hand on his chest and kissing back. He broke away first this time, and she smiled at him. "You know, I've been able to do that thing with the Starburst since I was five."

"I can tell," he murmured as she sat in his lap, leaning her back against his chest, her head in the crook of his neck once more. "Can you do the thing with the cherry stem?"

"Of course I can do the thing with the cherry steam. I can do a lot of-"

"What did I tell you about Rory and the apartment?" She winced as Luke walked in. His gaze shifted to the clock. Ten minutes, on the dot. She got to her feet and pulled the book from the couch cushion. "I was only getting my book back."

"My book," Jess stated, and she turned to kiss him on the cheek before she left.

Luke stared at him. "She started it, you know. _She_ came looking for _me_."

---

The phone rang once, twice, three times before he picked up. "Hello?" He mumbled groggily, voice lingering with sleep. "Hello?"

She took a breath. "I can hear you breathing, Rory. I think it's you. Now why'd you call me at three in the morning?"

"I chose you."

"What?"

"I took the book back." He nodded.

"Okay." It took him a minute to realize what she meant. The stupid note about Dean had been in that book. "Oh. You read that, huh?"

"I chose you," she echoed, voice resolute. "I chose you for a reason. Dean and I are over. We're just friends. And you're not going to screw this up, so you don't need to worry about me going back to him. I chose you, and I will stay with you. You are my boyfriend, and I want to be with you. "

"Okay."

"I pour my heart out and all you can say is okay?"

He exhaled slowly. "Jess?"

"Thank you. For taking a chance with me."

"Goodnight, Dodger."

"'night, Rory…"


	7. Chapter 7: Love Note

**Rogue: **Look who's got their writing groove back! That would be me. This was really fun to write. I don't know. It's sort of a way of life that eventually, every girl will write a love note. Rory's turn. If I had to place a timeline where this took place, I'd say somewhere after **That'll Do, Pig** and before **Swan Song**. Um, I love the ending. That's all I really have to say.

**DISCLAIMER: **There's not suddenly an 8th Season playing out there, is there? Well, you can be assured I don't own Gilmore Girls yet, then.

* * *

She's making a beeline for the diner, because it's been a long day and she needs her caffeine fix. More than that, she wants to see him. Lately, he's been working a lot. He has the morning shift at the diner, so she gets to see him then, and occasionally at the dinnertime rush. But he's pulling double shifts at Wal-Mart, which means he works late. And as much as she's proud of him for taking responsibility and earning a hard day's pay, she misses him. 

When she stops in front of the diner, she sees him sitting in his car, about to light a cigarette. Her eyebrow arches as she steers herself in his direction, watching as he effortlessly slides the lighter away and slips the cigarette behind his ear. The driver's side window is open, so she crosses her arms on it and leans her weight against his car. "Hi."

"Hi," he murmurs, watching as she cocks her head to the side in question. "I have the late shift tonight. Ernie quit, so they need me to pick up the slack." She sticks out her lower lip in a pitiful sort of pout. The corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile. "What? Aren't you proud of your old man, bringing home the bacon?"

"You have enough bacon at the diner," she mutters, resting her chin on her crossed arms. "I feel like I never get to see you anymore."

"You see me every day," he says slowly, because he knows that's not what she means.

"That's not what I mean." Her eyes peer at him from behind the curtain of hair that's fallen in front of her face. Unconsciously, he brushes it away with his hand. He likes watching her eyes when she talks. It's the only way he can try to guess what she's thinking. "When I come to diner in the morning, you're working. You're Babette's waiter and you're Kirk's busboy."

"I am not Kirk's anything," he interrupts. She keeps going.

"I miss the days where we'd sit in the gazebo and I'd be reading Rand and you'd read over my shoulder and point out the literary inconsistencies. I miss you sneaking into my room through the window at eleven o'clock at night to borrow my copy of _Oliver Twist_. I miss the way I used to come to the diner and it'd be empty, and you'd put on the closed sign and we'd go next door and get ice cream cones." She's said this all very fast, and when she pauses to take a breath, he leans forward in his seat to press his lips to hers. She smiles as he pulls away. "I miss that. I miss us, together, doing nothing."

Her eyes are boring into his and he's staring out the windshield, tapping the steering wheel with his knuckles. He turns his head slightly, and sees that she's still staring at him, biting her bottom lip in that endearing way she has. "After they get Ernie's replacement, I'll stop working so much. I promise."

She sighs slightly and nods her head in defeat, turning to go into the diner and meet her mother for coffee. His fingers latch onto her blazer and she's forced to look back at him. He presses something into her palm and releases his grip. The car's already running and he pulls away, heading down the street.

She unfolds the slip of paper in her hand. _Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know._

Of course he'd quote Hemingway.

---

She's sitting at home on a Friday night (after Friday night dinner, of course), because he's working and she's done all of her homework. A copy of _Oliver Twist _is open in her lap, and every time she reads the word 'Dodger' her mouth curls up in an involuntary smile. So her thoughts start drifting to him, and soon she's too distracted to read anyway. She marks her place in the book with the scrap of paper he wrote his Hemingway quote on and gets off of the bed. She moves to the window, half expecting him to appear out of the darkness and creep in through her unlatched window. He used to do that all the time, back when her mother outwardly hated him, and his uncle was trying to keep them within three feet of each other.

Now that they were permitted public displays of affection, the private visits had ended, except when he sneaked into her room to borrow (or reclaim) a book. But she knew he was working the late shift, and wouldn't be back in Stars Hollow for hours. And he had to get up early for his shift at the diner anyway.

She can't get her mind to wrap around any thoughts besides those concerning him. She sits at her desk staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, a pen already in her hand. For a moment, she just sat there, eyes closed and sucking on the pen's cap. Her free hand was drumming against the desktop to a dull rhythm. The beats sounded familiar, and she realized it was a Distillers song. The Distillers always reminded her of him, because whenever they drove around in his car, their music was playing.

She shook her head slowly and took paper and pen to her bed, where she flopped down and began to write.

_Dear Jess, _

_You know, you're impossible. You're not even here, and I still can't stop thinking about you. You're just there, all the time, waiting for me to gush about how you're so brilliant and amazing. I'm not that girl. I'm the girl who has the boyfriend, who she really cares about, but you know how much you mean to me without having to tell you. Right? _

_Except, you're there, in my mind, all the time. And I want to go to sleep, and I can't, because you're _there_. Even when you're not here. So I guess I'll be that girl. I'll tell you what qualities I find so appealing about you, since that's what you want to hear. And maybe after that, I can finally get some sleep._

_I love that you don't care what any__one thinks about you, but you still don't smoke around me, because you know how much I hate it (thanks for using that gum, by the way). I love the way you think about what you say before you say it. It makes every word seem special. I even love the many tones you of __"Huh," you seem to have mastered over the years. I think I'm finally starting to be able to understand what you mean when you say it. I love the way you write. Your words are even more powerful on paper._

_I love that you read. And I love that you don't just read what's required; you read because you love it. I hate it when you read over my shoulder, but I love it when you read out loud when I forget my book at home, or I'm too tired to read. I love it when you quote Hemingway, even though I hate him, and I love the way you overanalyze everything Ayn Rand writes, even if I love her work._

_I love the way you kiss me like you mean it. Every kiss is deep, and intense, and passionate. And, sometimes, it's so deep that I forget to breathe. I love that you pull away, and remind me to breathe, because no one wants me to die of oxygen deprivation. And, sometimes, your kisses are gentle, like you're afraid of breaking me because I'm just so fragile. I love it when you kiss me softly, because it lets me know you care. _

_I love the way you say my name. Sometimes, when other people say it, it just seems like this word that's meaningless. When some people say my name, it's with the same tone they say…light bulb or ironing board. When you say my name, you say it slowly and carefully, __like it means something. I love the way you say my name. I also really love your smile. Not that fake smirk you plaster on your face when something's remotely funny. The real smile you get when I say something witty, or after I kiss you. It's a real smile, and it's special, because you save it just for me._

_I love the way you pour a cup of coffee. It's slow, like you're trying to torment me with prolonging my caffeine-less agony. I love it when you push my hair out of my face, just so you can see my eyes. And I love your hair. It's really spiky, and I have no idea how it defies gravity like that. But I love it anyway. I love-_

She left the sentence hanging, yawning widely and leaning back against her pillows. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the sheet of paper still clutched in one of her hands.

---

It was late, and he really shouldn't be here. But once he got off work, this was the only place he could really imagine going. He crept close to the building, trying to avoid being seen by the neighbors. He peered through her window, a light smile curling upon his lips when his eyes found her asleep, curled up on her side with something clutched in a tightly rolled fist.

The window was always left unlatched, so he pushed and it opened with a dull creaking sound. He saw her shift slightly in her sleep and turn towards him, but her eyes remained firmly closed. She looked peaceful when she was asleep, her lips slightly parted and her breath coming out in a steady rhythm. He shed his jacket and draped it over the chair at her desk and toed off his shoes.

He approached her bed and pulled the piece of paper she was gripping in her hand. His eyes caught his name and the shadow of a smile appeared on his face as he began to read, mouthing the words silently. Once he read through the note, he folded it three times and slipped it into his back pocket. He slid into bed next to her, adjusting his weight slightly and moving to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She turned into him, resting her head on his chest and taking a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and a small smile formed upon her lips. "Hi," she whispered, voice still clouded with sleep.

"Hi," he murmured, brushing her hair away from her face and smiling down at her.

"I love it when you do that."

"I know." She glanced about lazily, figuring he was the one who'd taken the letter from her fist. "Go back to sleep, Rory." His tone was soothing, and she could feel herself fading in and out.

"I love it when you sneak into my room at three in the morning. I forgot to write that one down." He chuckled slightly, watching as her eyes drifted shut. "I love you," she murmured sleepily, and he noticed her breathing getting deeper and more rhythmic. He stared at her for a moment, shaking his head slowly. She probably wouldn't remember any of this in the morning anyway. He bent down and kissed the top of her forehead.

"I love you, too."


End file.
